


Afterglow

by Scarlettpeony



Series: From Shadows to Stars [3]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Adultery, Azure Moon Timeline, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Infidelity, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:40:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21616207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlettpeony/pseuds/Scarlettpeony
Summary: Byleth was the empyreal Archbishop of the Reformed Church of Seiros, queen-consort to King Dimitri I of the Holy Kingdoms of Faerghus, Adrestia and Leicester... and unbeknownst to all, my mistress.My love....eshtâre'uyla-mi...My stars-above...Following their tryst in the grotto, Byleth and Claude must return to the business of running an army - a task Claude finds is easier said than done with the plethora of thoughts going around his head, including those surrounding their adulterous relationship. Not least because Nadir is asking questions.
Relationships: Cyril/Lysithea von Ordelia, Minor or Background Relationship(s), My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Series: From Shadows to Stars [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1516988
Comments: 8
Kudos: 66





	Afterglow

**Author's Note:**

> Set in a post-canon Azure Moon timeline, though the series may contain references to the Crimson Flower, Silver Snow and Verdant Wind reveals and scenarios.
> 
> Edits: [18/June/2020] Tweaked a few chronological errors I made.  
> [18/Nov/2020] Overhaul, translations added.

☽

_Twentieth Day of the Red Wolf Moon, the Year 1188.  
Roz '29 Estama'ara, sal-3999.  
_

After their dalliance in the grotto, the King of Almyra and the Archbishop had sashayed back to camp utterly soaked, dishevelled and satisfied. Needless to say, they had turned a few heads at the sight of them, not least because they had a mere half-hour to fix themselves up for the already-delayed provisions meeting. Yet Byleth had displayed such dignity, solemnity and divine-sternness despite her tousled appearance that none in the camp would have believed trails of Claude's seed still traced her inner thigh. He might have found the duplicity amusing... had their circumstances not been so precarious.

It was lucky for them both that her 'resting-blank face' allowed her to carry herself in a manner that made her seem unapproachable. She was the empyreal Archbishop of the Reformed Church of Seiros, queen-consort to King Dimitri I of the Holy Kingdoms of Faerghus, Adrestia and Leicester _... and unbeknownst to all,_ _my mistress._

_My love._

_...eshtâre'uyla-mi..._

_My stars-above..._

He sighed loudly as he entered his quarters, barely acknowledging Nader's greeting on the way in.

Despite having found a moment of respite in that dank little cave sheltered by the shadows, there was already a part of him that felt bereft. Physically, yes, their lovemaking had lulled the never-ending hunger he had for her, for now. Yet still the void he felt when they were no longer as one, and then when he watched her return to 'her side' of the camp, champed away at his arteries like a mouse on twine, breaking his heart a little more each time.

“Enjoy your stroll in the woods, kiddo?”

Nader's voice rang through him like a gong, putting such stress on the 'stroll' that it knocked Claude off-kilter somewhat. He had entered, unannounced of course, to snap his former charge out of his trip through his never-ending library of memories. 

“Good morning to you too, Nader, or what's left of it at least — and don’t you mean, ‘How did the reconnaissance go, Your Royal Highness?’”

 _Good job I'm decent — wait! Are those hickeys covered up?_ he quickly thought, pressing his fingers against where Byleth had marked him, relieved to feel the cloth that safely hid them.

“Huh," Nader leaned against the wooden framework of the tent, shaking the entire structure for a moment as he eyed his monarch curiously. "Is that what you’re calling it these days?”

“Are you implying something untoward, Nader?”

“Not at all," he said quickly, holding his hands up defensively. "I just thought you were bathing a very long time. Me? I prefer to get in, scrub the dirt off and get out, no hanging around and no need for some ex-teacher of mine to drag me out like a naughty kid." 

A fleeting moment passed. 

"Of course, if _that_ little lady was scouring my back for me—!”

“I hope you aren’t making comments like that around the camp, _spahbad_ ," Claude scolded lightly, forcing a smile. The image of his lover scrubbing Nader's back was not one he cared to have imprinted in his mind. "Referring to Lady Byleth as 'that little lady' alone is quite disrespectful, implying that she would scour your back is probably blasphemous."

“What do you take me for, kiddo?” Nader chuckled. “Even if I were dancin’ a jig as I said it, the lads would be laughing at the very idea of her scrubbing _anyone’s_ back; it's so ridiculous in their minds!”

 _If only you all knew_ , the king thought coyly. 

The long-held assumption that Almyrans had about Fódleans was that they were priggish and their Archbishops were the embodiment of that sexlessness — probably because they had all essentially been cut from the same cloth as Lady Rhea. 

The fact that Byleth was married did nothing to quell that stereotype, not least because she and Dimitri had no children. Claude had overheard one of his officers, a brat who used to pick on him for having ‘coward's-blood’, making a snide comment about Byleth for it the other day to a _tross_ -woman he'd trapped on his lap:

_"Rumour has it the cravens' green-haired queen's barren. That's bad enough, but a prude on top of it all!? That one-eyed king is probably praying to their daeva dragon-goddess for her to open her legs. He might not get an heir, but at least he'll get laid!”_

Claude made an example of him during drills later that same morning by using him for target practice, citing it as punishment for endangering the goodwill of the Fódleans within their own country with his 'insensitivity' towards a sitting monarch and a woman of the cloth. Honestly, it wouldn't have usually bothered him what they said about Byleth or Dimitri (certainly not about Dimitri), but he drew the line at them poking fun at something he knew she was sensitive about.

“Even if it is 'ridiculous', I don’t think it is wise to say such derogatory things about Her Grace," he finally concluded. "As I warned Heydar the other day, it might be seen as sacrilege by our Fódlean allies if they overheard us sexualising their religious figurehead and queen-consort like this. I don't think _she_ would appreciate it either.”

To that, Nader threw his head back and laughed. 

"I dunno, she seems like a girl with a sense of humour about herself."

"I'd sooner not test her patience, my friend."

“As you say," Nader shrugged, non-convinced. "I mean from what I've heard most of your men have a begrudging respect for Queen Byleth. Heck, I know I do!"

He then stared thoughtfully into space, the hint of a smile on his lips. 

"People will always talk about a lady like that, and you just have to live with that, kiddo! She’s an archbishop, a queen and a fearsome warrior on top of that but she’s also an attractive woman with no scars on 'er! Now _that's_ rare, and, if I might say so, considering whether or not there are any marks anywhere else--"

"You may _not_ say so!"

"--beneath the robes is prime material for their fantasies," Nader finished, having already begun as Claude spoke his words. "Ahem, pardon me, Your Royal Highness."

Byleth surprisingly lacked in battle scars, it was true. Claude had seen 'beneath the robes', and there was barely a scratch on her -- save for one. There was a faint, white line that ran vertically up her chest, lying at the valley of her breasts, so tiny and fine he might have missed it had he not been smothering it with kisses at the time. _"How did this happen?"_ he had asked, but Byleth had no answer for him. _"I've had it as long as I can remember."_

 _Odd_ , he thought then - and now. 

Claude certainly recalled how he got most of his battle scars, which would indicate she had received it when she was a child. He contemplated that for a moment; it was as if she had once been sliced with precision upward across her heart... _but that couldn't be right, could it?_

His mind almost went off on another tangent, missing the end to Nader's 'point'.

"With the best will in the world to Her Grace, many men in this camp probably fantasise about having those showy legs of hers wrapped around their—!”

Claude turned sharply. 

“Don’t say that where people might hear!”

_Especially me._

“Remember I’ve broken your nose twice as a kid by accident,” he warned. “Imagine how much it’d hurt if I do it on purpose.”

“A broken nose is a broken nose,” Nader rebutted with a shrug. “You’re lucky you still have one at all with the mouth you have, Your Royal Highness.”

Claude re-tied his sash, acting as dire as his nature would allow. 

“I mean it, Nader. You can't talk about her in _that_ way." 

"Oh, can't I?"

"The Fódleans really, really might not take it well.”

“The ‘Fódleans’ won’t, eh?”

“Seriously, this tone of yours is starting to grate!” he hissed. 

He normally enjoyed Nader’s gruff humour but the idea of him or anyone imagining his stars-above in 'dubious' situations almost bothered him as much as the existence of her husband did. Admittedly, though, he preferred it to _other_ things they might be saying about her, and him, things he didn't want to find their way back to Fhirdiad and Dimitri. Yet for diplomacy sake as well as his sanity he didn’t want jokes and japes to be made at Byleth’s expense, even the good-natured sort.

The fact that Nader wouldn't let this go, though, was starting to daunt Claude. 

_Does he suspect something between us?_

If he did, he'd prefer the old guy just come out with it instead of prodding and poking him. The words tumbled out of him as he thought them: “If you have something to say, just say it!”

For the first time, Nader looked like something approaching sheepish. “I've nothing to say, just trying to make banter.”

“I don’t mind banter but be careful who you choose as your target,” Claude answered firmly. “I know you don’t care if someone takes the Wise One's namein vain, but Fódleans take their Goddess seriously. Need I remind you that By - that is Her Grace _Lady_ Byleth - isn’t just the archbishop to them. They believe her to be the avatar of their Creator.”

“Yes, yes, you’ve said!" the older man grunted. "Those legs of 'ers are pretty... divine, aren’t they?”

 _Legs that an hour ago had been clamped around me like a vice._ He almost tripped at the memory. He could still feel the delightful ache in his sides as she had tightly squeezed him, the scolding feeling at his core when he felt her come around him, and heat that spread from him-- _wait,_ _stop, I can't be thinking about this now!_

“Enough, Nader!” Claude sniped. 

Nader held his hands up in defeat.

“Fine, Lady Byleth’s visage is to be worshipped silently and from afar. Dually noted.”

The King of Almyra nodded resolutely.

“I just figured talking about it would... help you.”

“Help... me?”

“Yeah, to let it all out, I mean,” Nader cleared his throat and leaned closer, weirdly surreptitious, “I can tell you have... a thing for Her Grace.”

Claude cocked an eyebrow, “A ‘thing’?”

“Yeah,” Nader nodded, scratching his cheek. “But given she's the archbishop of that dragon-worshipping religion, not to mention a married woman, it’s not like you can act upon it.” 

He had to choke back a self-loathing scoff. Instead, he nodded passively.

“This sort of thing has never been your forte," Nader continued. "So, I figured you’d appreciate getting some things outta your system. Bit of brotherhood, y’know?”

_Get it out of my system, ha!_

If all he had was ‘a thing’ for Byleth he might have been able to control his feelings; arousal was easy to assuage and gratification quick to mastermind. What he felt was something much greater, far more powerful and all-consuming. Yet it was _enthralling_. He couldn't imagine a world - whether it was the one they lived in right now or the one he sought to build - that didn't include her. Each time he held her in his arms, it was like reuniting with a piece of his spirit. _It's not just our bodies that are entwined but our souls too._ Then, when they were together, as close as two people could ever be, and she whispered sweet words into his ear, the universe seemed to shrink until all that existed was them... 

...and he could forget, even just for a moment, that she was married to someone else. 

During his darker moments where sleep wouldn't take him, and all he had were the thoughts whirring around inside his head, Claude wondered if Byleth ever compared him to her husband, or whether she ever felt guilty after their rendezvous. She never expressed any guilt to him, but that didn't mean it wasn't there. Had it started to ebb away as it had for him? He didn't like to ask her directly... even thinking Dimitri's name brought him face to face with their circumstances.

_I can hold her, kiss her and make her mine thousands of times over but Dimitri's her husband, not me._

It infuriated him.

_She should be **my** wife._

“I appreciate the thought...” he finally said, gently. “But I fear you have the wrong end of the stick about Teach and me.”

Nader scoffed.

“Come on, _Khalid!_ Be serious. You’re pretty good at hiding your feelings from most people, but I know you.”

“Nonetheless... stick, wrong-end.”

“So, why are you crying, _‘Don’t say those things about milady Byleth!’_ then? Is it that you’re a convert to the dragon-faith now? Trust me, your whole, _‘Won't someone think of the Fódleans!’_ excuses aren’t foolin’ me!”

“See right through me, do you, Nader?" Claude sighed, starting to feel exhausted with this line of questioning. "It’s cultural sensitivity, that’s all. As they say, ‘When in Morfis, do as the Morfisians do!’ and I would hope the Fódleans would do the same if they were in Almyra.”

“They wouldn’t dare do otherwise.”

“And neither should we.” 

_Now, time to end this damned conversation!_

“Get the other commanders together,” Claude demanded. “It’s near noon.”

"We've been ready a while now, Your Excellency."

“Then make sure to keep pace with me,” the king commanded.

* * *

**☽**

_Tenth Day of the Verdant Rain Moon, the Year 1180._  
 _Roz '19_ _Pantha'ara, sal-3991._ _  
_

In Almyra, the Wise One was believed to exist within every living being, and Its presence took the form of a flame. That fire was your soul. Legend had it that there were only so many of these fires within the universe. So, at the beginning of eternity, a single flame had to be split between two people. Just as the fire was once whole, the pair completed one another and were forever twinned by fate, destined to meet and fall in love.

If the romances were true, the sweethearts would eventually be completely captive to their passions. Powerless thralls to their love, nothing could tear them asunder even if kingdoms were to clash or the very sky was about to fall about their ears. Sometimes the endings of these stories would be grim -- the man would go mad and scratch out his own eyes, the woman would die from grief after being forced to marry another man, or they would enter a gruesome death-pact so they could be together in the next life.

Like moths dancing around a torch, it drew them together and consumed them from within.

The idea of a literal half-fire burning in his heart had seemed silly to Claude as a boy. Back when he was Khalid, and 'Claude' was only used by his mother when they spoke alone. Even as a kid, the goals he had set his ‘flame’ upon were so lofty, so far beyond what any woman could be expected to stick around for while he worked to accomplish them, that finding love became a low priority in his mind. It wasn’t so much that he lacked desire itself — his mission was just more important to him. 

Once he had entered 'the summer of life’, as his father called it, his mother had been concerned that their teenage son would rush to-and-through, spreading his oats fast and wide. So, Nader had been the one tasked with giving him the ‘talk’. They thought it would be less awkward coming from him than them, though it was certainly not a conversation he wanted to have with anyone. Yet, he had humoured them chiefly because he wanted to see the look on Nader’s face when he realised there was nothing to discuss. 

_As if a precocious little scamp like me hadn’t researched the facts of life years beforehand!_

On that fateful day, when the topic had been broached, his old instructor had also been surprised when Khalid told him he was ‘keeping his oats to himself.’

The burly warrior had scratched the back of his neck, and forehead creased as if trying to solve a puzzle.

_“Huh, does it... Is it working okay?”_

_“Um, yes?”_

_“But you’re not interested in--?”_

_“It’s not that I’m not interested,”_ the younger version of him had shrugged. _“I'd like to have someone someday. I just have other projects that occupy my mind otherwise.”_

The truth was he had been busy searching for a jump-start to his said project. It was a pity his poor old uncle whom he never met had to die for it to happen. 

He continued: _“Don’t get me wrong, I have an idea of the sort of girl I'd like. But — I dunno. Actually doing, y’know, the act itself feels..."_ It was hard to explain. _"I won't enjoy it unless I'm just... Utterly consumed by... By love, I guess?"_

Twiddling his arrow, Khalid decided that was the best way of putting it.

_"_ _Plus, y'know, you're pretty prone when you're naked. Too vulnerable. I hate being vulnerable - people might try to kill me."_

To his surprise, Nader was understanding.

_“Ah, no worries! You’re probably one of those people who need it to be the right person, your 'twinned flame', so to speak. Heh, I used to think your dad was a weirdo—ahem, what I mean is, His Royal Highness is like that. To an extent."_

'To an extent' referred to Khalid's elder sister and three older brothers. Still, his father hadn't had another woman since marrying his mother. To Khalid's knowledge, at least. He was pretty sure his mother would castrate his father if he ever did.

"But I think you're paranoid 'bout the whole the girl trying to kill you!" Nader added with a chuckle.

Khalid had winced, genuinely not seeing the humour. _"You know how many times people have tried to kill me. It comes with the territory, being 'ahmixtan' and all--"_

_"Hey! Don't use that word, certainly not about yourself."_

_"Point still stands, Nader. I'd have to trust someone utterly to... To do that with them."_

_"You're scared of intimacy?"_

_"Sorta. I also don't feel like having sex for sex's sake would achieve_ _anything.”_

_"Achieve anything...?"_

_“Yeah, like, ‘what’s the point’? How will it make me feel happy? How does it help my goals?”_

Nader scratched his head.

_"What the hell kinda goals d'you have, Khalid? Becoming a Eunuch?! I mean, hell, what's wrong with having the goal of gratification?"_

_"Agh, you're not getting it,"_ Khalid groaned, rubbing his temples. _"Let me put it another way... What if I told you that you would meet your twinned flame in ten-years-time, guaranteed! But in exchange, you had to give up all lusts of the flesh until that day. Wouldn't you consider putting love on the back-burner?"_

Nader had tilted his head. _"Did your sister give you that option or something? Never known you to pay any mind to Eliyah's crazy visions._ _"_

Khalid blurted out a laugh.

 _"It might be good to get it out of your system, kiddo. Most people have sex because, y’know, it just feels... good,"_ Nader continued. _"Or to relax, or because they're in love?"_

 _"In love! Yes!"_ Khalid clapped once. _"Otherwise, I can make myself ‘feel good’ without the risk of disease, pregnancy or being burdened with feelings. I'd need a better reason than ‘Because, y’know, it feels good!' And I can meditate if I want to relax.”_

He had twirled, and arrow in his fingers, returning to target practice to signal the conversation was over.

Nader sniffed. _"And love?"_

_"I'm not in love. That's the point."_

_"So, you are waiting for that perfect girl, huh?"_

_"Pretty much."_

Nader could have continued to query him, but he hadn't. Instead, his expression had just twisted in resignation. _‘You’re weird, kiddo,’_ it said. It made the young lad grin to know he could stump the undefeated warrior over something as basic as his outlook towards sex. 

_"It’s all fine, kiddo, but maybe keep all this to yourself when around the other lads. If they think you're living like a eunuch, they might cut it off.”_

_“I had no intention of shouting it from the rooftops!”_

_As if I would tell them anyway._

They had all hated him back then for having ‘coward's-blood’. Now, half of the ‘lads’ had died in the ‘War of Succession’, the eighteen-millionth one since Almyra's founding, after failing to comply with their shahzad's demands and recognise him as their rightful king. As for those who survived, they were now 'men' in his army, prostrating before him and being the good little soldiers they ought to be. 

_They know better than to cross me now._

Yet even now they were the last people he would ever want to discuss his love life with - and he wasn't too keen to talk about it with Nader, either. He preferred to keep it all within the confines of his mind with it never reaching any further than the ears of his mistress.

Here he was over a decade later and the twinned flames fable finally made sense to him:

It was an allegory for deep, passionate, unyielding and undying true love. A love that cannot be cast aside for anything. Everything he felt for Byleth now. They were the two moths about a flame, or the two limbs of a bow, or two magnets being pulled together. The closer they were, the more powerful the draw. Yet even when they were apart from one another, the longing, dear Lord of Eternity, the longing made him want to scream! 

If soul mates existed, there was no doubt in his heart that she was his.

_“Welp, at least your mother will be relieved.”_

Those had been the last words Nader had said about 'the talk' before he finally gave up and left his charge to his own devices.

 _Would Mother still be ‘relieved’ if she knew where I was ‘sowing my oats’ now?_ Claude wondered. He could imagine what she would say if she ever found out: _“What are you ‘achieving’ with this stunt, aside from burning bridges before you've even built them!?”_

She would like Byleth as a person, being a straightforward woman herself. Anyone who had the nickname of 'Ashen Demon' would be alright in her books. Though Byleth had a gentler and more patient heart, they shared a fierce protectiveness towards what mattered to them. 

_Yes, Mother would love Byleth... but her status as a religious figurehead and another king’s wife would give her a heart attack!_

Then there was his father. 

His father Dariush III, the former King of Almyra, had always disliked his son's underhandedness when he was a child — and was still wary of it as an adult despite the results it had achieved. Knowing him, he would probably think that Claude was playing a trick, that he was trying to undermine Dimitri by sleeping with his wife or the Fódlan faith by 'desecrating' their progenitor god. 

His old man's thought process was terribly predictable, unlike Claude himself.

After all, there were much safer ways to 'undermine' Dimitri than to cuckold him. The truth was when their affair began, all he had wanted was to be with Byleth. Her husband couldn't have been further from his mind, as awful as that was to admit. He was sorry that Dimitri might ultimately be hurt by their actions... but he felt no regret for having done it in the first place. _There's a special place in hell for men like me_ , he thought in resignation. Claude had passed the point of feeling ashamed over his love for Byleth. That had gone long, _loooooong_ ago and well before their budding passions bore adulterous fruit. As time progressed, any stigma he felt about his love or acting upon them were surpassed by the conviction that they belonged together.

As for 'profaning' the goddess's avatar... Well, as far as he was concerned, there could be no one walking the earth who had worshipped at her 'temple' _so_ devoutly, 'prayed' to her _so_ ardently nor 'reverenced' her _so_ utterly as he did daily and nightly. Puns aside, Sothis's gifts made Byleth powerful... but physically, she was still a woman, not some holy vassal that his mortal hands could defile. 

There was one good piece of advice from his father he took to heart, though:

_"If people don't trust you, they will never follow you. Now, wrists out, Khalid - you need to be punished!"_

His father seriously underestimated the power a smile had, though.

Claude always sought to sit down with his enemies and try to talk it all out. If they called off the battle and joined his cause, he would gladly accept them into the fold. If they antagonised him further despite having been offered the hand of peace, he would show them no mercy. Sometimes all talk breaks down, and you cannot find even the narrowest of common grounds with your enemy, so, there was no choice but to fight. 

He always made good his word and smiled as he did it, even if he didn't want to.

_"By maintaining a smile, my rivals and enemies never know what I'm thinking and thus can never second-guess me."_

He told his father as much when he demanded the crown from him after all the battles were done.

Everything was a weapon - his smile, words, blood... and crest.

His mother had disliked his admission to her that he sought to use the crest he'd inherited from her family line as a weapon.

_"Your crest is a mark of my people's goddess, not another one of your silly little tricks, Claude!"_

_That’s the point!_ he had thought, but not dared to say. _It isn’t a trick — this is **real** power. _

As much as he respected her, the dreaded Demon Queen 'Rhoxana' - as she was known in the East - was cut from cloth similar to her husband - punch first, ask later. No wonder she took to Almyra like a duckling to a pond.

Moving to a country where even more of these strange marks existed had been bizarre. Having only just found out he had the blasted thing, sixteen-year-old Claude had been called upon by his maternal grandfather. There he had been, the only grandchild of old Duke Riegan. None knew where he had spouted from: the Duke's weird daughter, Tiana, had run away from her engagement with the then-heir, now-Count Gloucester twenty-years ago, while his son Godfrey was dead. Claude had materialised out of thin air; as if by magic to plug the hole his late uncle had left behind. Had it not been for that distinctive crescent-moon glyph etched beneath Claude's flesh and pulsing through his blood, none would have swallowed the story, and civil war might have broken out in the Alliance.

Fódlan was so obsessed with damned crests it was a free-pass to recognition!

Then, when he’d heard that the fellow crest-bearing Imperial Princess and the Crown Prince were enrolling at the Officers Academy, he had told his grandfather it would be “bad form” if he didn’t do the same and attempt to foster good relationships with them. It was one of the few things he and his old man agreed upon; Claude could pursue his dream, and Duke Riegan could send his Almyran-born grandson to the fanciest finishing school money could buy.

Unfortunately, Princess Edelgard and Prince Dimitri were very set in their ways.

There was no denying that Dimitri had been the more approachable - and willing to talk to people outside his own house in general. He never seemed to be assessing Claude as much as he was making snap judgements, and voicing them to his face. He especially liked to tell him how distasteful he found his tricks and schemes.

_“Have you no respect for your station, Claude?”_

_“Not really.”_

_"Well, what of honour? Have you any of that?!"_

_"I have honour,"_ he had rebutted to the golden-haired princeling. _"It might not be the fantastical, fuddy-duddy Faerghusian knight's code straight outta a Loogian romance_ you _follow, but it_ does _exist within my twisted little heart."_

Dimitri's eyes had darkened then, _"Are you familiar with how the Loogian legends tend to end, Claude? Loog's ideal fails. Believe me. I know better than most how unachievable it is to live by that code absolutely. I have seen the darkness that lies within men's hearts. Those ideals do not exist."_

The way he had said those words had unnerved Claude somewhat though he was glad they agreed on something. 

He had also been more open to the idea of working together. There had been times when he had sought Claude out for his opinion on certain matters, especially when it came to predicting more underhanded strategies, like the sort that creepy retainer of Edelgard's liked to use. 

Even Claude thought Hubert could go a little _too_ far at times.

 _"Forgive me!"_ Dimitri would say contritely. _"I am sure you have many pressing matters to concern yourself with, but you have an adept skill at these things."_

_"It's fine. You can scratch my back as long as I get to scratch yours?"_

He hadn't told Dimitri his full plan though he had explained enough to provoke his interest.

 _“I see. Well, I would most certainly wish to seek a mutually beneficial alliance with you... providing this 'dream' of yours does not interfere with my own goals,”_ His Princeliness had concluded. _"I suppose the houses of Blaiddyd and Riegan should be close — we share blood, after all."_

Claude didn't think much in terms of houses and bloodlines, though if it helped get Dimitri on board, he'd consider it a win.

 _To think over seven-years-later we'd be the men we are now_ , he thought dully.

In stark comparison, Edelgard was as stubborn as a mule. Her Highness was too pig-ignorant to think she needed help from the likes of Claude. Frankly, he was certain that she had written him off as a fool.

He had tried to assuage her with topics she might find interesting. When that failed, he fell back on his other weapons: wit and craft, gumption and industry, insatiable curiosity and an unshakeable ambition to unwrap every heart he encountered. 

Flirting often helped with that last one, he found. 

His looks, (and the desire they might inspire), were yet another arrow for him to shoot and see where it landed. Edelgard was no exception either. Getting blushes out of the stoic Princess had been a badge of honour, and yet...

 _“I have my own dream to tend to,”_ she declared.

 _And I have no use for the likes of you!_ her scowl added.

Her heart remained as closed as her mind. 

_Pity... all that power, intelligence and beauty squandered because she solved her problems with bloodshed._ In the end, the person who Claude had initially pinpointed to be his most useful potential ally turned out to be the greatest obstacle for peace. Edelgard was his antithesis. So, her loss to the world was no great loss to him at all. 

_What a waste!_

Then, Byleth had come along.

Back when he was a student and she the teacher, he had been gagging to harness her skills, then later her unfathomable power. The more she gained, the more curious he became about her. He would go out of his way to sit in any seminar she held so that he might soak up her knowledge like a sponge. She was a tactical genius, always getting the upper hand over any enemy. Claude enjoyed strategy, and he loved to bounce his own ideas off her, to see how she would counter them. It was an excellent means to see which schemes were predictable, and which ones required a moment's pause for her to puzzle out first.

The more he listened to her, the greater his desire to get close to her became.

But Claude would never forget _that_ day. The one when she had led a seminar for the Golden Deer at Hanneman's request.

Once the class was done, and everyone else had left, he had purposely lingered behind to have a conversation with young Professor Byleth, hoping to squeeze some more information out of her about her background. 

“If I could wield that sword of yours, I’d achieve all my dreams in a fortnight,” Claude declared wistfully.

"Nothing is ever _that_ easy," was Byleth's simple response.

Her crest at least indicated she was a direct descendant of Nemesis... though whether that was passed down through Jeralt's line or her mother's was another question he wanted an answer to. It was well-known Jeralt possessed a crest of Seiros, so, perhaps they were descendants of her as well! 

_Maybe **that's** why she was so powerful...?_

“My mother once told me a legend where the King of Liberation struck fear and awe in his enemies with that sword." 

"You want to strike fear in people?"

"More the awe. One tales goes that he cut a mountain in half with that thing!”

Byleth had stared at him. Her eyes had still been blue back then, just as lovely but much colder. 

“I’m not cutting a mountain in half for your amusement.”

“Spoilsport!”

She ignored him and turned her back.

“Is there something you want, Claude?”

His smile had grown wider. She had meant it like ‘why are you still here?’ Yet, instead of a witty response, his eighteen-year-old self had spoken with all the frankness (and cheekiness) she secretly seemed to enjoy about him. 

“I want to gaze into your soul, Teach," he told her, head resting upon his hand as he watched her clean the blackboard. "I love a good puzzle-box, and you’re the most captivating one here. More than anything, though? I want to understand what your heart says, _beat_ by _beat_.”

She gathered up her books, paying him no mind.

_Oh, sweet, unflappable Teach._

What she did next though had flawed him. As she walked passed him to leave, in a rare show of emotion, she had smiled, leaned over his desk and whispered words he would never forget:

"Pity for you my heart doesn't beat."

All he could do was gape.

She had probably only meant to put him in his place, but the jolt that passed through his body had rendered him speechless. Her smile had provoked a spread of warmth, through his arms, belly... and modesties. As she sauntered off, his curiosity had been more than a little piqued, and his eyes were pinned to the sway of her hips as she left him, sitting alone in the empty seminar room.

_A captivating puzzle box indeed._

He thought before that it had just been her power to wield that sword, her genius at moving troops about the battlefield, or the mystery that surrounded her very existence that ensnared him so completely but it was more than that. 

It was just... _her_. 

_All of her._

_Everything!_

The mind, the soul, the 'heart?' and the body that contained it all. He wanted to know everything about her and not just to satisfy his curiosity but to... feel close to her. Never had he ever wanted anyone for the sake of just wanting them... until that moment.

* * *

☽

The Almyrans had been the last ones to arrive at the meeting. As always, it was held in the shared war-tent at the centre of camp... though it was admittedly more Byleth's secondary-dwelling than anything else, as being the venue for their liaison last night - as well as a few more nights previous - attested to.

As soon as Claude stepped inside, the delightful scent of chamomile greeted him. It surprised him a little as Byleth tended to prefer sweeter, brighter teas over earthy tones.

_Perhaps she knew we'd need help concentrating on this monotonous task?_

His eyes immediately fell upon Byleth. She was sitting all prim-and-proper, sipping delicately from her cup, the image of a virtuous lady and queen.

_Who would have thought you’d been naked in a cavern with me but an hour ago, my sweet star?_

The memory made his spine tingle.

Byleth was nestled between Leonie, (who had nabbed Seteth’s old seat), and some old Faerghusian knight he didn't recognise. The orbicular table was occupied by a tight circle of Fódleans drinking in-tune with her, pinkies standing to attention. At the sight of the Almyran king, they all clambered to their feet reluctantly.

"So glad you could join us, Claude," Lorenz said curtly, already on his feet and picking up the half-full tea-pot. 

"Love you too, Lorenz!"

A few of his commanders stiffened, not appreciating the lack of decorum afforded their king. One, in particular, named Sahm, vocalised it with a grumble in his local dialect, words that Claude was glad were not said in the _koine-glótta_.

Fittingly, his old school friend seemed to sense the tension and defused it with all the dignity one would expect of the 'scion of Gloucester'. 

"Will you and your men be partaking, Your Royal Highness?"

"Thank you, we will," Claude chortled, walking around the table towards Byleth. 

Following his lead, his eastern officers shuffled into place between the westerners. Most of Claude's men were home-grown, born and bred in Almyra, yet some old Alliance individuals had followed him when he handed the deeds over to Dimitri. Some were minor lords who had served House Riegan since the split from Faerghus and other were third- or fourth-sons with no inheritance to keep them in Fódlan. Yet even they had darkened in the strong prairie sun and arid desert heat compared to their chilly cousins who stayed home. It always made Claude smile to see them side-by-side.

In the end, everyone is just a person; the only difference is the environment.

Reaching the seat beside Byleth, Claude slipped carefully in between her and the gruff knight. 

"Pardon me, my lord..."

He offered the rather grouchy-looking man a smile though even as he did, he knew it wouldn't land. Just by his ‘I hate everything!’ face, Claude could tell this was a knight moulded in the old world fashion where piety to Seiros equalled a natural dislike of outsiders, especially the invasive Almyrans. The next oldest person in the room was probably Nader, though, unlike his old Master-at-Arms, this man was not young at heart. Claude almost felt sorry for him; completely outnumbered by a tent filled with bright young things with (hopefully) more open-minds.

Claude muttered into Byleth's ear: 

"Remind me... this gentleman serves Count Rowe, right?"

He could tell by the shield he wore on his cape.

"Countess Rowe now," she hummed quietly, raising her hand to cover the conversation. "Sir Nera of Cumhal. He has just arrived with what levies could be spared from Arianrhod. You would have known that had you arrived five minutes earlier when I introduced him.”

_Pardon me. I was scolding Nader for perving on you._

"We’re a damn long way from Arianrhod, my friend. So, what's he doing here?"

"Dimitri,” she responded stiffly. “He ordered him to bring his men here rather than Fhirdiad."

 _No wonder Nera seems so grumpy_ , Claude studied Nera's fatigued, world-weary face. “So, he's spent the last month marching his men through the Ogma Mountains, trying to catch up with us?"

“It seems so.”

The King of Almyra felt uneasy hearing this.

 _Do you know something I don’t, Dimitri?_ he wondered. _You could have sent them to Garreg Mach, or let them stay tucked away in their fortress._ He would have to keep an eye on this... _I don’t like the idea of a man like you having intel I’ve yet to pick up._

Byleth stood.

"Now that His Royal Highness has finally joined us, let us discuss the matter at hand," she began. 

"Indeed," Leonie snorted, tapping the ledger. "Lorenz and I have been sitting on our backsides for ages waiting on you, Claude."

Only Sahm seemed taken aback by her familiarity with Claude this time as everyone else among the Almyrans managed to chuckle in fellowship at the huntress's gentle dress-down. 

_I suppose I did keep them waiting a while, too._

"Do forgive our tardiness, brothers - and sisters," Nader spoke for them. "His Royal Highness and Excellency can seldom face the day without a long, cool, refreshing bath."

Byleth's eyes fluttered a little, staring at the pretty white flower that floated there in her cup. 

"Is dallying around in grottos part of his morning ritual, too?" Lorenz tacitly muttered, retaking his seat. 

Claude's heart skipped a beat, but he managed to keep his smile steady. He glanced at Byleth; her aurora-green eyes were hooded beneath her lashes, revealing nothing.

"Ahem, excuse me?"

"Don't try to act all innocent, Claude!" Leonie reprimanded him. "The Professor told us all about your silly antics, dragging her around that lakeside to scope out the caves. Just before the rain hit, too!”

Finding his voice again, he cleared his throat and smiled. 

“I suppose you would have just sent Ashe and Cyril?"

"I wouldn't have minded going!" Ashe perked up immediately.

"If y'all have a problem with our work I'd prefer ya just say it," Cyril mumbled, arms folded.

Byleth offered the pair a reassuring smile, "It was rather impromptu, else we would have called upon you."

"Indeed," Claude nodded, focusing his gaze on Cyril especially. He'd always had a soft spot for the little guy who was not so little anymore. "You're peerless scouts, but it helps for us supremos to get down in the dirt sometimes. To see the landscape for ourselves lest we forget what it's like and only start to see the world as inky lines on a piece of paper."

"How whimsical!" Lorenz remarked dismissively, picking up the ledger from beneath Leonie’s grip. “If we could continue with the matter at hand? I trust Oswald and Sam have brought the tallies from the Almyran stock?”

“Sahm!” the Almyran snapped back. “Not ‘Sam’. S _a_ _h_ m!”

Lorenz sighed patiently, “Pardon me, Sahm. Have you and Oswald brought the ledger?”

Oswald, the fourth son of a younger brother of Lord Goneril, nodded awkwardly. He gave Sahm a friendly pat on the shoulder, hoping to defuse his bad mood.

“He completed the count last night,” the lad explained.

“Counted twice, one—” Sahm clarified, holding up his fingers, “—two! Understand that, _Glowcesster_?!”

Claude immediately choked back a laugh.

“It’s pronounced Glou...” Lorenz began.

He stopped as soon as his eyes met Sahm's gesture. A small roll of laughter fluttered around the table as they noted Sahm had his fingers back-hand facing. Leonie stifled a chuckle, and even Byleth had to hide her smile behind the rim of her cup. 

It was an old Alliance hand gesture dating back to their break from the Empire. Flaunting the two fingers required to nock, draw and loose — the skill prized by all in the Alliance territories even today. Legend had it the Emperor at the time had feared Leicester archers so much he would cut their index and middle fingers off. Today, denizens of the Alliance - and the rest of Fódlan as a whole - knew it to essentially mean eff-you.

“Oh, how hilarious!” Lorenz said, rolling his eyes. “Did Sir Oswald teach you that one perchance?”

“King taught me,” Sahm replied, pointing to Claude.

“Of course he did,” Lorenz lamented.

"Ha, that's a good one, Claude!" Catherine bellowed cheerfully. He'd thought she might have been one of the injured who returned to Garreg Mach with Seteth, but it seemed she was well on the road to recovery from that Bolting she took in the last battle.

Another titter spread across the table.

Claude raised his hands in admittance, “It’s culture."

“It’s rude!” Lysithea scolded.

“Yeah!” Cyril perked up, following her lead as always. “How ‘re we suppose’ to work togeth’r if we’re doing that. Can’t we all just be nice to each other?”

Sahm looked at Cyril and laughed out: _“Albino girl says ‘jump’, that boy says, ‘how high!’”_ in his dialect.

The young lad’s cheeks reddened, probably one of the few on the Fódlean's side who understood the words.

“No, no, Cyril has a point," Claude announced, deciding the teasing should stop. "It’s bad enough we all have to be here for this rather dull part of warfare, so the least we can do is get through it civilly... and quickly.”

“Says the guy who put off this ‘dull part of warfare’ to show Lady Byleth a grubby cave!” Leonie rebuked him again. “That's another set of ruined garbs...!"

Byleth smiled apologetically, "I do struggle to keep my robes tidy at the best of times."

"If Seteth were here he'd have an aneurysm," the huntress concluded bluntly, before turning back to the guilty eastern king. "He'll feed you to his wyvern next time!"

“Not if mine eats him first!” Claude swiftly rebutted with a chuckle.

Sahm turned to Oswald; all scowls again.

“They feed wyvern our _shah_?!”

"No, no, it was a joke,” the minor Goneril knight tried to calm him down again, pointing desperately at Claude's smiling face. "See, the king is laughing!”

With that, the table began to break into a rumble of chatter again; only the long-suffering Sir Nera stayed silent.

Byleth gracefully rose to her feet again and tapped her spoon against the modest porcelain cup. Ring, ring, ring it went until the natter started to die down.

“Good,” she said in her ‘Teacher’ (or _Please-stop-bickering-Hanneman-and-Manuela!_ ) voice, once all eyes were on her. “Now that I have your attention again, shall we proceed? As His Excellency to my left said, none of us particularly enjoy this task... well, except perhaps you, Lorenz.”

The group laughed lightly, which the Count of Gloucester let wash over him. It was different when Lady Byleth was the one making the joke, after all.

"Now, now," she continued, patting down the chuckles. "Let's all try to get along. Just remember the sooner we start, the sooner we get to leave and do the things we want to do today...”

What we want to do, Claude repeated in his head, keeping his smile steady and his eyes safely glued to his cup of chamomile, else he probably would have looked up at her, and all might have read his thoughts. What I wouldn’t give to go back to that cave with you right now...

Byleth turned to Oswald. 

“Why don't you and Sahm start? Is there anything you are running low on...?”

Despite Sahm’s difficulty with the spoken language outside of his region’s tongue, he was very good with numbers. He had assisted with his merchant father’s accounts as a boy, so he had developed a knack for them. He also seemed to share Leonie’s dislike of wastefulness. No axe nor bow in their entire inventory was bad enough to be discarded, even when Nader argued otherwise.

Lorenz's notes were, of course, perfect. He went over how much they could spare from their provisions ahead of dividing some of their forces, should Jeralt’s old company agree to assist.

“They will,” Byleth said resolutely.

“Of course they will!” Leonie beamed. “They’d never refuse a request directly from the Blade Breaker’s child.”

Claude smirked. _You mean they wouldn’t dare refuse the Ashen Demon._

With that, the provisions were made. Most at the attendees who were no longer required to remain happily left to get on with their lives and leave the archbishop, the king and the top commanders to continue reviewing the plan. 

To Claude’s relief, Sir Nera was one of those who shuffled to his feet.

“Lord Gaspard,” his raspy voice called out to Ashe. 

The young archer looked up, surprised to have been addressed as such despite having held the title for near-two years. 

Despite technically outranking old Nera, he nodded his head respectfully. 

“How might I be of assistance?”

“Once you are done here, I would be grateful if I could discuss something with you privately.” 

The knight eyed Cyril cautiously.

"O-Oh? Do you?"

Ashe glanced at Byleth with uncertainty, though she didn't catch his gaze.

“Yes, nothing serious mind you,” Sir Nera added quickly, clearing his throat and drawing the younger man's attention back to him. “My niece insisted I speak to you myself since we would be crossing paths. Merely a discussion on the future of House Rowe and how House Gaspard might... assist.”

 _Subtle_ , Claude thought, holding back a snort.

“Of course, I would be honoured to host you,” Ashe replied with relief.

Any knight was a welcome visitor to him. 

_It's sweet, really._

Nodding stiffly to Claude, Nera then most graciously bowed his head to Byleth.

“I shall take my leave to help my men set up if you will permit me, Your Grace.”

Byleth nodded, smiling benevolently.“We are grateful that you came all this way. I am certain that your contribution will be invaluable.”

"We are honoured to be in your presence and at your service, Most Radiant Grace and Highness."

Taking her hand, the older man placed a kiss upon the top before marching out with military rigour.

There was no way Claude would let this chance pass him by.

He grabbed her other hand and placed a smouch of his own upon it, quick enough for it not to seem strange, (at least as far as his old Golden Deer classmates would think was 'weird' from him), though he made sure to graze his teeth teasingly for his mistress's benefit. 

"What next, Your 'Most Radiant' Grace?" 

There was a light chuckle from some, a tut from others.

"Behave yourself, Your Royal Highness," she said rigidly, slowly easing her appendage away from his ensnarement. Despite sounding annoyed, she was biting back a smile.

"Indeed!" Lorenz sniffed nobly. "You know perfectly well that it would be considered a great insult for a sworn knight within the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus to enter or leave the presence of the Archbishop without kissing her hand."

“‘Cultural sensitivity’, Your Highness?” Nader flashed a smile.

“When in Morfis, Nader, when in Morfis,” Claude winked back, then, he addressed Lorenz. “As for you, in Almyra, it is considered a great insult not to bend the knee when a king enters the room. I can’t help but notice yours have remained unbent since I arrived. So, go on, get on your knees and bow your head, ' _Glowcesster_ '!"

Sahm cackled, slapping his knee.

Lorenz placed his hands on his hips.

"Do you insist, Your Royal Highness?"

They stared at each other for a few minutes before Claude shook his head. "Nah, you're fine. I'll settle for a refill."

He nodded and stood to make some fresh tea. 

“Shall we stick to chamomile or switch to something sweeter, Your Grace?”

“Chamomile, if you please,” Byleth said decisively.

Lysithea huffed. 

“Well if you wouldn’t mind I brought some sweet apple blend. Would you mind accommodating me? Oh, and add plenty of sugar! You have sugar, right? I need sugar for energy!”

“It’s a good job I own multiple pots,” Lorenz muttered, offering her a small yet brightly coloured red one with golden speckles and lining. It frankly looked good enough to eat! “Here, it will be as though you are drinking candied apples.”

Byleth’s face twisted in mild disgust. “You should try to eat and drink other things besides sweet, you know.”

“I keep tellin’ ‘er that,” Cyril said, holding his hands up in resignation. He would still share the pot with her as even a little one would be too much for her alone. “Glad I’m not picky."

"Why did you serve chamomile anyway?" Lysithea sulked. "You usually love sweet teas! You have the best-honeyed teas!"

“Chamomile is better for concentration."

As Lorenz began to assemble round two of the teas, Sahm decided to make amends, getting to his feet and grunting out an "I help you!" to which the Count accepted gracefully.

“Well, well, Sir Nera himself has graced our camp,” Lorenz continued, pouring out the fresh steaming tea into the king's cup. "I suppose recent circumstances have called him out of retirement."

"Oh?" Claude's interest piqued.

"Yes," Ashe nodded, tone sad but saying nothing else. It was only once everyone was served, and they had huddled closer together around the map that he picked up the mantle of the conversation:

"Nera was the brother to the former Count Rowe's father. He was the youngest and never expected to inherit anything, so he became a knight. Sadly, most of House Rowe died during the war. Now, Lady Lynette holds Arianrhod. She was the daughter of Count Rowe's younger sister who married Lord Gwendal. Sadly, Lynette is the last of her line. If she dies without children, it will go to Sir Nera before the line of Rowe is exhausted. Unless Yuri wanted to make a case for himself... though I doubt he's going to, and he's not exactly well-liked by those Lords sworn to the Rowes. So, unless Lynette has a child to carry on the line, I suppose Arianrhod will fall back to Dimitri. Nera is now too old to have children, so I hear he is keen to see Lynette married as soon as possible.”

With another sigh, he stroked his chin and pondered. 

“Huh, I wonder why they want to talk to me?” he finished, no hint of irony.

Claude shook his head but said nothing. 

_Oh, Ashe! Sweet as honey, dim as pig-iron._

The look that passed between Cyril and Lysithea indicated they had both puzzled it out with no issue at all.

“Um, I think ya kinda answered ya own question there, right?” Cyril spoke slowly, eyes glancing around the table to check if everyone else who was listening had got the blatantly obvious hint, too.

_Heck, even Sahm probably picked up on it!_

“Have I?” Ashe asked, picking up his teacup. He looked to Byleth searchingly, who gave him an affectionate smile.

“We can talk about it later,” she promised him.

“Indeed,” Lorenz nodded knowingly. “Matrimonial matters can wait for now.” 

At the mention of that word, Ashe spat his tea back into his cup and spluttered out a high-pitched ‘what?!’

“But that can’t really be what Nera wants, right?” the lad pressed. “I-I mean, I’m just a commoner!”

“No, you’re Lord Gaspard,” Claude corrected. “Frankly, as the young, nice-looking and unmarried Lord next door, I say this Lady Lynette would be a fool not to be scoping you out.”

Ashe’s face changed then from shock to sadness. “But I...” 

His tone was filled with conflict. Of all people then, he looked to Catherine. Her brow was creased with rare concern as she patted the lad's shoulder. "Hey, hey... Lynette's a nice girl. Maybe this is what you need? It has been nearly three years."

"But I can't!" the archer whispered. "It doesn't... feel right."

Claude could tell something had completely passed him by. Puzzled, he glanced at Byleth. She met his gaze briefly before turning to Ashe again. “We will talk about it later,” she assured him. “You have my word... but first you should see what Nera has to say.”

“I will,” he said gloomily.

"Yeah," Cyril added with forced enthusiasm. "I mean, we might be wrong!"

"Even if we are right, don't reject the idea straightaway," Lysithea added quickly. "Just... you know, take your time."

"I will," Ashe nodded half-heartedly, seeming keen to distract himself from the torment wheeling around in his mind. "Please... let us talk about more important matters. Even if Jeralt’s mercenaries do agree to assist us, we still have to find a way to split our forces in such a way that the mages won’t realise what we’re doing."

"But how're we gonna do that?" Catherine queried. "Pincer movements have served us well in the past, but they'll have wised up by now."

"Agreed," Lysithea spoke up, sipping her sickly-sweet tea. "By now, they've probably realised that we've figured out they're using the cave systems. Ashe and Cyril have scoped that area out--"

"As has Claude," Lorenz added tartly.

Claude rolled his eyes and leaned over to Byleth. "Why did you tell them that?"

"I had to tell them something," she whispered back with a coy smile. "Since there were no believable lies, I thought honesty was the best policy."

 _Perhaps you're right_ , he acknowledged. _It didn't matter if they knew where we were -- it's what we were doing that must remain secret for_ _now._

"Maybe we could use the fact that they know that we know against them," Leonie chimed in, resting her chin upon her hands to look over the map. "If they're gonna be double, even _triple_ , checking what we’re doing we'll have to _quadruple_ , even... whatever checking something five times is--!"

"Quintuple," Lorenz advised. 

"Or 'pentuple', if you prefer!" Lysithea added, trying to one-up him. "Like a pentagon!"

"Right!" she nodded. "Y'know, if we want to lure them out in the open.”

“Perhaps we bait 'em?” Cyril suggested.

"Like with food?" Oswald said uncertainly.

The table sniggered at that.

“We’re more likely to bring out demonic beasts than the mages, my young friends," Lorenz chuckled. "We are talking about humans, not the mindless fish at Garreg Mach."

Sahm gave Oswald a friendly jolt with his elbow then and humorously repeated the word "like fish", while the young knight tapped his cheek, pondering. 

"What do cave-dwelling people eat anyway -- moss, maybe?" 

"I don't think so," Ashe whispered, before uttering to Cyril that he "has a good point." His voice was drowned out by Nader's cackling, though. 

"Perhaps we could even use a carrot on a stick!" 

Lysithea scowled, “I challenge you to come up with a better suggestion!”

For his part, Claude was fixated on what Cyril had said. 

He exchanged a glance with Byleth, who nodded in agreement. An unspoken understanding passed between them as she rose again to shh the room.

"Simmer down, everyone!" she called over them in a sing-y-songy voice.

" _Yeeeessss_ ," Claude added in the same tone. "Fun-time is over now, everyone shut- _up_ _!_ "

As the group settled, Byleth retook the floor: 

"Let's regroup... if we want to stop these enemies once and for all, we need to block off their means of escape with a double envelopment. Before we do that, however, we need to get them away from the cave systems. Fish jokes aside, tricking them into the open with 'bait' isn't a bad idea."

Catherine brown creased, and she leaned back in her chair. "A feint, huh?"

"It seems like the most logical route," Byleth deduced.

"Though Ashe and Leonie are right," Claude added, tone worrisome. "These guys have not been having a good time as of late. They'll be sextuple checking everything we do... so trying to draw them into a conventional battle with a traditional feint probably won't work. The question is, how do we lead them into a false sense of security?"

He had meant the question to be rhetorical, but no one made any suggestions. Not even a squeak. With a sigh, Claude tapped his fingers against the table. 

"Looks like that's my homework, Teach," he muttered.

"I'll help you," Byleth promised.

Her words were a secret code that promised so much more.

_I certainly hope so, my stars-above._

**Author's Note:**

> ##### Translations of High Almyran words
> 
>  **Explanation of the Almyran Calendar (Ara'straum Calendar)**  
>  This is based on a fantasy calendar I put together for an original work that I repurposed here. A picture reference for the full translations is [here](https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50653032998_8a50812393_c.jpg)
> 
>  **eshtâre' uyla- _mi_** translates to 'my stars-above', literally stars **'above-** _me_.  
>  **spahbad** is a noble/military rank in Almyra, approximate to a 'Count'-rank or 'Commander' in Fódlan.  
>  **koine-glótta** borrowed from Fódlean, which means "common language" and equivalent to a 'Lingua franca' in world. In myths, it is said to have been the language of the Goddess but, in reality, the wider-world believe it was originally used in the development of magic spells in Morfis. It was later adopted by merchants and artisans from Fódlan, Almyra and Dagda since time immemorial, leading to its wide use.  
>  **shah** (Simplified), or _xsah_ translates as 'King'.


End file.
